Malefactors
by Houndeye
Summary: The story of three people, one who was human, one who is, and one who might as well not be. The battle for the Borealis leaves behind two stragglers who must work together to survive. This is a work in progress and my first fic, so reviews are appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

The _Borealis. _The Aperture Science icebreaker, stranded for decades in the Arctic sea ice. The bright red hull was perched between the twin crags of a tall iceberg, floating some hundred miles from the North Pole. Lost for many years, but certainly never forgotten. Standing on the deck of the aptly named _Aurora_, another icebreaker, Dr Judith Mossman broke into a broad smile when she saw the ship's name emblazoned across the bow, poking out from the berg. This was it. The prize that Doctor Kleiner so desperately wanted to recover and that Eli Vance had so desperately wanted to destroy. Why? She hoped to find out sooner or later.

An hour and a short helicopter flight later, and Mossman was standing, flanked by two Resistance members, gazing out in awe from the deck at the sweeping expanse of ice. They had plenty of work to do, as a detailed search of the ship was required. They decided, to conserve helicopter fuel, that they would remain onboard the _Borealis _for the duration of the mission. That night, Dr Mossman penned her first diary entry.

_Day 1._

_Lawes, Johnson and I have made a detailed examination of the outer surface of the ship. Nothing untoward so far, although the entire vessel is in an advanced state of disrepair. Davids and Odell have made a preliminary sweep of the lower decks, taking many photographs. Most of the passages and rooms on the starboard side are partially or completely blocked by ice or fallen equipment, either from some storm, general decay, or something else entirely. At the present none of us have any idea as to how or why the Borealis became stranded on the peak of an iceberg, some hundred metres above the sea. Hopefully our investigations will help to uncover more clues. The team has set up camp in the rooms under the bridge, as these seem the least damaged. _

_Day 2_

_Using our Tau cannon, we have managed to carve a berth out for the Aurora in a nearby berg. We cannot afford to let it be spotted by satellite. We have begun cutting away at the ice on the second floor, but it is slow work and it may take some time to reach the cargo areas. _

_Day 3_

_We have made a grisly discovery. Almost a dozen corpses, freeze-dried inside the hull, have been found in one of the storage bays. It is all very curious. How did they get to the bay, if the ship was tossed onto the berg by a rogue wave, as Odell believes? Were they all sheltering in there, and became trapped by the ice? We will surely find out as we open up the rest of the ship._

_One week later_

The black jackboots of Unit D-9 settled onto the slanted and buckled hull of the icebreaker. This enhanced combat soldier represented the peak of Combine gene manipulation. He was tall, over six foot, and clad in standard issue Elite body armour. No skin was visible under the puffy white torso, the red and black knee and elbow patches, or the imposing helmet. At the centre of the Cranial Protection Unit was an enormous single red lens that took up almost a third of the front of the helmet. Contrary to popular belief, the Elites had not been surgically modified to fit the helmet, instead using the lens to provide a clear uninterrupted view of the battle zone. Instead of the complex and cluttered air filters and equipment used in the gray and blue B series helmet that was Overwatch standard issue, the Elite's helm was streamlined, with two domes over the ears and a single port over the mouth that was both a filter and a vocoder.

D-9 hustled, half crouched, across the deck towards the nearest shelter. He hunkered down behind a hatchway cover, and covered the bow with his pulse rifle. More Elites leapt from the drop ship that swayed gently over the hull, fighting the Arctic wind. They moved cautiously, leapfrogging each other as they made their way down the length of the stricken icebreaker. Only the port side was navigable, as the ship was encrusted in ice and snow on its starboard side.

"_Bow clear."_

"_Stern clear."_

"_Centre clear. Advance on access hatches and proceed to lower floors."_

From here, the Elites split up. Several attached cables to the outer rails and rappelled down to the outside gantries of lower floors. More began to batter at heavy bulkhead doors and portholes, while the rest took up defensive positions around the ship.

D-9 followed the others into the bowels of the ship. The interior was pitch black, illuminated only by the red light of the Elite's helmets and the occasional ghostly spear of light that found its way through the ice and into a porthole. Here and there they had to step over the desiccated corpses in Aperture Science jumpsuits that littered the concourse.

No door was left unopened, no room left undisturbed. The Elites covered every inch, taking photographs with their helmet cameras of every object they could find. Every corpse was taken out into the sunlight and laid in neat rows on the deck, where Overwatch medics began hasty dissections, picking out the best preserved examples for transport. A Hunter helicopter, equipped with ground penetrating radar, made several slow passes, mapping out the section that lay buried under the ice. The Combine swarmed over the Borealis like ants picking over a bright red cadaver.

The search continued for several hours. None of the personnel had been briefed on what it was they were looking for; in truth, not even those that had ordered the mission knew. Anything out of place had to be reported and documented thoroughly. So far, nothing apart from ordinary human technology had been found. The cargo holds, however, remained sealed off by walls of ice and other debris that had penetrated the hull in several places. Soldiers with thermic lances had already begun to clear these doorways. Drop ships swarmed overhead, dropping off and removing cargo and artefacts alike. The Elites were relegated to guard duty.

None of the Combine heard the drone of the approaching aircraft, it's blades masked by the thunder of the dropships and the circling Hunter helicopter. The Mi-8 leapt over the edge of the nearest iceberg and bore down on the Borealis with terrifying speed. The dropships scattered like a school of frightened fish in its path. A burst of machine gun fire spat from a pod on the helicopter's belly, and the Hunter chopper began to issue great clouds of smoke, wheeling away over the ice.

The Overwatch on the deck were quick to recover from their surprise, and soon the air was filled with projectiles. The Mi-8 swerved and wobbled drunkenly through the air overhead, occasionally firing on the soldiers beneath.

D-9 sprinted over into an open doorway, and into the ship. The bridge was crowded with soldiers, Elites and Overwatch. His radio crackled with frantic communications.

"_Overwatch requests reserve activation..."_

"_Confirm, hostile contact..."_

"_Request medical..."_

The radio faded, and a deep voice cut through the chatter.

"_Overwatch reports several boomers dispatched inbound, prepare for special enemy suppression and wrap up. All remaining units displace to internal high points." _

Outside, the Mi-8 wheeled around for another pass. It was badly damaged, having taking hundreds of rounds of small arms fire in the attacks. A burst of machine gun fire chewed up the flat stern, blowing several soldiers off their feet. The helicopter sank lower, heading for the rusted, faded square of steel that had once been the ship's helipad.

D-9 ran back to the bow, moving to a higher position on the superstructure. The Mi-8 settled, and two figures jumped out, sprinting over to the nearest hatchway. The first of the duo was a young woman of Afro-Asian origin, with coffee brown skin and deep green eyes. She wore a thick green parka and snow camouflage boots and pants. Her black hair, streaked with red, was tied back by a black headband.

The second intruder was male and of a similar age. He was clad from the neck down in an orange and black suit of hi-tech armour, with the Greek lambda symbol emblazoned across the torso plate. He had deep green eyes that glimmered from behind a pair of rectangular glasses. He had a small beard and moustache, and short brown hair.

D-9 lowered his OSIPR as the hatch groaned shut behind the intruders. On the helipad, the Mi-8 was wreathed in flames, crackling furiously as the last of the fuel burned.

All the noise and confusion of the upper decks vanished instantly as the hatch closed. In its place, there was only the deep boom of strained metal and the steady drip of melt water from the rusty walls. Alyx Vance put her hands on her knees, panting for breath. She gave a wry smile, and glanced up at Gordon Freeman.

"Well, that was kind of the Combine to give us such a warm welcome."

Gordon fiddled with the aperture of his chest-mounted flashlight. "Too kind. Looks as though they've only just turned up".

Alyx punched him on the shoulder. "Why is it that you only show up after the bad guys arrive? I thought heroes were meant to always be one step ahead."

Gordon smirked. "I don't know why anyone would say that."

He panned the beam over the walls around them. Ahead, a set of metal stairs plunged into the gloom. With Gordon leading the way, they descended into the hull of the icebreaker.


	2. Chapter 2

_Day 6_

_At last! We have come across a safe room, marked with several important-looking packages. Closer inspection reveals that they are test samples, en route to a laboratory for testing. We have not yet opened these two boxes, as they are still very securely held. _

_Day 7_

_We have opened the boxes. One contains an amber crystal, approximately two kilograms in weight with curious refractive properties. The crystal also vibrates at a very low frequency, such that it is playing havoc with our equipment for communicating with Kraken Base. The second box contained four small objects unlike anything I have ever seen before. Each one is the size and shape of a playing card, and behaves almost like a butterfly, floating around the corridors whenever it is not contained. Each one is extremely thin, and strangely weightless. As of now, we have no clue of either of these package's departure or planned arrival points. _

_Day 8_

_Another safe room has been breached, this time containing only a single package. Inside was a small, mushroom-shaped object, made of a lightweight and porous stone. There are three small hinged levers made of an impossibly shiny material, like the first artefacts. As a precaution, and due to some of the labelling on the containers, we have decided to repack the artefacts and keep them separate. _

_There only remains the hold area to search. _

High above, the final dropship swooped in across the icefields towards the smoky haze that veiled the Borealis. On deck, the half dozen Combine personnel that had not yet been evacuated formed a loose semicircle at the bow, weapons ready. The Nexus had known that resisting Freeman would only lead to greater asset loss, so they decided to withdraw, taking with them as much material as they could.

"_Confirm, last transport inbound to target. Airwatch is inbound. SkyShield is at periapsis, out of range for time zone. Standing by."_

The transport slowed, the container hatch bumping against the hull. The Overwatch personnel began to remove their equipment, passing it into the craft. D-9 made to go with them, but his radio began to emit a priority warning. He turned it on.

"_Overwatch Unit D-9. Nexus confirms that priority subjects are onboard target. Bodypack charge is onboard transport. Transport outbound of target zone in ten minutes. Deploy charge and extract."_

An Overwatch soldier leaned out of the hatch, and passed D-9 a large, silvery grey backpack. A timer appeared in the upper corner of his heads-up display, and D-9 ran for the nearest hatch.

Gordon and Alyx emerged into the ship's hold. The cavernous room was illuminated by several spotlights abandoned by the Combine during their hasty retreat.

High above, a set of long, spindly metal arms were mounted from the ceiling, attached to several small drum-like objects. On the floor, a set of metal triangles formed a large receptacle of sorts. In one corner of the room was a cage, covering a buckled and broken floor hatch. A small track ran from the cage and into the receptacle. Overlooking the scene was a small control booth, it's windows smashed and broken. Alyx looked around with confusion, but Gordon felt a horrible chill. Why was this so... eerily familiar? The cage, the booth, the track – why here? He steeped closer, and then he saw it, glinting in the darkness inside the receptacle. A beautiful, glittering, almost fluorescent orange crystal, marred only by a large scorch mark on its tip. Reaching over, Gordon picked it up, and held it towards the light. It seemed to thrum in his hand, the air around it shimmering with untapped power. Yes, just like the first one had. Gordon turned, a broad grin on his face... and threw the crystal as hard as he could against the wall of the hold.

The dropship patiently circled overhead. Peering through the observation scope, the Overwatch soldier mounting the pod's gun discerned a faint outline in the water near to the foot of the iceberg.

"_Check visual, vessel stern – shit!"_

With a sonorous boom, the foaming water parted, and a long, grey object breached the surface. A submarine of human design, with a low, narrow conning tower and a tall radio mast. As the spray washed off the deck, two figures came running onto the deck, clad in orange jumpsuits. They were heading to a large deck gun that was mounted on a pedestal at the rear of the deck.

The transport swerved to give the rear mounted Nexus scanner a better view of the target, and for a moment the Overwatch gunner was blind. When at last he could bring his gun to bear, it was already too late. The deck gun stabbed skywards, and the transport was sliced in two.

Alyx yelped, whirling around as the crystal shattered.

"Jesus Gordon! What the hell are you doing?"

Gordon ground the bigger fragments down into powder with his boot, then walked over, his face tense.

"Come on. We need to leave."

"What...but we haven't looked on the bridge or the rear quarters."

"That's the first place the Combine would have looked. The sub won't wait forever."

Gordon keyed his radio. The speakers coughed static, then a voice echoed out through the hold.

"Gordon? Come in Gordon."

Lifting his microphone, built into the back of his gauntlet, Gordon spoke.

"Right here Barney."

"Jeez Gordon, you had us all worried there for a moment. Listen, get to the sub as fast as you can. We can't hang around much longer."

"Did the Combine see you?"

"See us? We just shot down one of their transports! I thought they'd all cleared out a while ago, but they must have left some behind."

They took off up the staircase, the sound of their passage reverberating through the silent hull. Reaching the middle decks, Gordon and Alyx hustled through the empty rooms.

Alyx cursed."Dammit. What was that thing you broke back there? It might have been important."

"Something that I think everyone could live without. Besides, if the Combine thought it might be important, they would have taken it with them."

They turned a corner into a dimly lit passageway, lined with drifts of snow. "We'll have to put this place under some kind of surveillance. If the Combine found something really important, then they would have already left."

"Good to see that someone else is having some bad luck today."

Gordon opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off when a figure came charging out of the darkness, cannoning into him and sending him sprawling. The figure banged hard against the wall, temporarily off balance. Alyx saw the outline of a pistol in the gloom, and tried to draw her own weapon, but bullets were already biting into her flesh, and she was falling...

After a while, the radio spluttered into life.

"Gordon? You there? What was that noise?"

"Oh shit Barney... Alyx is... something... I need a stretcher up here. Now."


	3. Chapter 3

D-9 holstered his pistol, still running hard through the dark corridors. His radio could listen in on Resistance frequencies, and he had heard the earlier explosion from outside. Now he was truly isolated, with little hope of resupply, reinforcement or extraction.

What now?

He stopped, leaning against a metal bulkhead. The humans were planning to leave with a submarine, but there was little chance of him sneaking aboard or taking the vessel by force. The Overwatch had pulled back a considerable distance from the _Borealis _and were unlikely to try and retake the ship soon.

He looked down at the silver case still clenched in his hand. Some dark purple liquid had splashed onto the arming console, and was now dripping onto the floor. He turned his arm over, seeing more of the liquid spilling down his white body armour. D-9 felt his shoulder, then up to the back of his helmet – and felt something loose.

The Elite dropped the case, suddenly panicked. His combat computer ran a diagnostic program, and the results came back almost instantly. His Stim bladder had been ruptured.

All Overwatch soldiers come with a built – in Stimulant dispenser, that injects adrenaline and other boosters into the soldier's bloodstream during stressful situations. As a by product, all Overwatch personnel were in some way addicted to it, and deprival could lead to insanity or death.

D-9's heart began to pound. The corridor began to swim in and out of his vision, and he sank to the floor, his helmet filled with flashing lights and wailing alarms. After a while, everything floated away.

When D-9 awoke, he felt strange. He observed the purple streaks that ran down his uniform, but felt nothing. He flexed his fingers, feeling them move under the gloves. Feeling faint, he began to slide back into unconsciousness, but at the last instant he rammed his collapsible stun baton into his chest, jolting himself awake. There were things to be done.

A group of Resistance members, dressed in thick parkas and snow camouflage, emerged over the side railing of the icebreaker. Gordon emerged from the bridge, cradling Alyx in his arms. Blood sheeted down the front of his HEV suit. He waved frantically to the rebels, and they ran towards him. They stretched out a tarpaulin on the deck, and set to work with bandages and painkillers. Gordon stood some distance away, chewing his lip in fear and frustration.

One of the rebels clapped him on the shoulder. "Gordon. You hurt anywhere?"

"No, Barney, I'm fine."

"Really? You've got some blood...wait, no some weird purple stuff on your face."

The scientist turned, and stared out at the horizon. He ran his hands over the butt of the .357 Magnum in his belt. "The Combine are still on board. We should probably go look for them."

"Combine? Nah, they've been gone for ages now. There's been no radio chatter, and the transports...c'mon Gordon. Right now, Alyx doesn't need you to run off and avenge her. She needs you with her."

Gordon turned back, and gave Barney a thin smile. "You're probably right."

D-9 hunkered down next to a shattered window on the bridge, and gazed down on the scene below him. One subject, possibly the Vance sub-prime, was wounded and lying on a tarpaulin on the centre of the deck. Two humans were giving her medical attention. Two more humans had returned to their submarine, taking with them armfuls of recovered Combine weapons. As he watched, a human wearing a suit of orange and grey steel strode over and knelt beside Vance. This was Freeman, and a quick scan of the purple residue on his face and torso confirmed that it was he that D-9 had run in to below decks.

Somehow, and for some unknown reason, D-9 felt as though he should leave the ship. But how? He was unarmed, save for his pistol. Glancing down, he remembered the charge, and a plan began to piece together in his mind...


	4. Chapter 4

_Day 9_

_More bodies have been discovered, not all of them human. Five were wearing Aperture Science uniforms, one of whom was an armed security officer. In an opposite corner of the hold, a creature almost two metres tall and clad in a metal helmet and chestplate was found partially buried under snow and ice. It weighs over three hundred kilograms, and the presence of a third arm on its chest suggests it is a native of Xen. We have not yet attempted to move it, but this afternoon we organised a sea burial for the humans we have so far recovered. _

_Day 10_

_We have begun to transport artefacts back to the Aurora. Davids has also managed to force the door leading to the bridge, so we can finally get at things like the ships log. We have enough food to last another six days, but a predicted storm will force us to leave early._

Gordon knelt down over the tarpaulin. Alyx, sensing his shadow passing over her, opened her eyes.

"Hey."

"Hey...uh...sorry."

She smiled.

"It wasn't your fault."

Gordon glanced down at her midriff. "Does it hurt?"

Alyx snorted. "Gordon, we don't all wear a hazard suit. Of course getting shot hurt. Lucky we've got some strong painkillers."

Gordon smiled, and stood. Barney had walked over, rubbing his jaw in consternation.

"We need to get going. The Combine are bound to overcome their shyness sooner or later."

D-9 detached the detonator unit from the Bodypack charge, rigging the device for remote detonation. He then leant the case against a bulkhead, and retreated to his position at the window. With him was an OSIPR pulse rifle that he had found discarded by the burnt out helicopter. It had been warped and badly damaged by the flames, but D-9 would not be using it as a weapon.

A few quick re-wirings later, and he was set. The rifle had joined the silver case back at the bow, now with a few after-production modifications. D-9 unholstered his pistol and tightened his grip on the detonator. Any moment now. It was vital that the humans, and especially Freeman, were distracted, if only for a few seconds.

One of the medics waved to Barney.

"Okay Barney, we'd better go. Alyx should be good for transport."

Barney lowered his binoculars, passing them to Gordon. "Take a look. The Combine are still hanging around, about ten miles off. Thanks Gabe, we'd better get at least three to carry that stretcher."

Gordon scanned the distant icefloes. Vague shapes, some slow, some fast, flitted about beneath the fog. "What are you up to..."

D-9 squeezed the first trigger on his detonator. Below the thin decking of the bow, the energy ball priming system on the OSIPR began to whine.

Gordon lowered the binoculars, casting about for the source of the sound. To him, it sounded as though some aircraft was approaching, low and between the bergs. The whine grew in pitch and intensity, then, with an almighty thud, the bow disappeared in a cloud of billowing smoke and flames. He and the other rebels threw themselves flat, fumbling for their weapons. Only Gordon, assisted by his suit, managed to stay upright, the Magnum clutched in his hands.

Behind them, D-9 emerged from the bridge at a run. He dived forward, and slid across the icy deck towards Vance. She had sat up when the charge had detonated, staring out at the bow. Alyx's scream was muffled by thick body armour as the Elite wrapped his arm around her head.

Gordon, gun in hand, yelled to Barney. "We need to get off! That was some kind of Combine missile!" Barney was standing stock still, looking back towards the bridge. As Gordon watched, he raised his hands, removing his submachine gun from beneath his parka and laying it on the deck. Gordon spun, raising the Magnum to fire.

"_Drop the weapon."_

Alyx's frightened eyes peered out from behind the soldier's black glove. A Combine Elite was crouched behind Alyx, one puffy white arm coiled around her throat. Slowly, Gordon let the Magnum slide down his fingers, until it fell to the deck. There was an answering clatter from behind as the rest of the rebels dropped their weapons.

The Elite jerked his head at the side rail. "_Now, get out of here."_

Slowly, the Elite stood, dragging Alyx to her feet. Tightening his grip, D-9 pulled his pistol from his belt and dug it into Alyx's back, daring the rebels to make a move. Together, the pair began to inch back towards the bridge. D-9 pulled his captive in through the door, then kicked it shut behind him. The dull boom echoed out across the ice field.

Gordon hardly dared to breathe. "No. C'mon Alyx. Get out of there."

Barney slowly bent down, and retrieved his gun from the deck.

"Gordon, we need to go. If they hit the sub then we're all dead. You coming?"

Gordon clenched and unclenched his fists, staring daggers at the closed bridge access door. He had never felt so...helpless.

Barney's face appeared in the red haze that had begun to cloud his vision. "Alyx can look after herself! She's probably safer than we are! Now move!"

The Freeman gave Barney a look of pure venom, but turned and ran for the railing with the rest.


	5. Chapter 5

When the Elite first pulled her to her feet, Alyx had fainted as the blood rushed to her head. The slamming of the bulkhead door brought her back, and she squirmed under his grip, biting uselessly into the thick glove over her mouth. The soldier dragged her down several corridors, a flight of stairs, and finally into what had once been the ship's infirmary. The hand was removed from her face, and she redoubled her efforts, but before she could get in a punch or a kick the soldier had thrown her down onto a sick bed and stepped back out of striking range.

Panting, she put her back to the wall and stared up at the Elite. "Well? Go on. You've got a gun. I'm helpless, I can't fight back. Finish me off. Do the Combine a service."

The Elite did not fire, but the gun remained levelled at her as the soldier drew up a chair and sat facing her. By the light of the Combine spotlight that still shone in one corner of the room, Alyx got her first proper look at her attacker. His armour was scuffed and battered, with a dried up river of purple fluid running down his left side.

D-9 looked down, and saw a patch of blood slowly spreading out on the floor under the bed. He stood, and tore off his Elite insignia patch, fashioning it into a makeshift tourniquet which he wrapped around Alyx's leg, all the while keeping his pistol pointed at her bemused face. What was he doing? Keeping her alive for something, like a more satisfying execution on the Overworld?

The soldier looked away, then made a small coughing noise. Clearing it's throat, she realised.

"_You are Sub-Prime Vance, Resistance member, and stand charged with criminal malcompliance and non-cooperation. Sentenced to death in absentia. Sentence to be carried out herewith."_

The Elite pointed to himself.

"_Unit D-9, batch three, City 13 Overwatch. Unit is charged with desertion and betrayal of authority. Sentenced to death automatically. Sentence to be carried out herewith."_

The soldier fell silent. Alyx let the words sink in. Desertion? Betrayal of authority? This Combine was some kind of rouge.

"You're not...with them anymore?"

"_Affirmative."_

Alyx gave a derisive laugh. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."

The Elite shrugged. "_Unit has provided medical assistance. Unit has not used deadly force on Sub-prime or other malefactors."_

He pointed to his helmet. "_Unit is no longer under the influence of Stim."_

Alyx had heard of Stim. Captured Combine soldiers usually died within a few days from a lack of this drug, a purple fluid very much like...the stuff splattered on his body armour.

"So why are you still alive?"

The transhuman shrugged.


	6. Chapter 6

With an almighty splash, the submarine breached the surface of the Kraken Base moon pool. Located some three hundred miles north-west of the ruins of City 17, Gordon had once likened the new home of the Resistance to Echo Base in Star Wars, where Rebels had fled following the destruction of the Death Star. Hopefully, this hideout would last longer.

A short, balding man in a thick parka and spectacles stood hugging himself on the dock.

"Gordon? Ah... I'm sorry. I heard the news. First Eli, then...it's almost too much."

Gordon made a short, exasperated sound. "Don't worry Doc, were working on it. She's not staying back there for long.

Dr Kleiner sniffed, and adjusted his glasses. "I'm glad to hear it. However, there has been an interesting development. Earlier, a small boat was seen drifting near to the moon pool entrance, only a few hours after you and Alyx departed. I had it brought in, and we discovered that it was in fact a lifeboat from the _Aurora._"

Gordon frowned, but Barney chipped in. "That old thing? The last we heard of it was almost a fortnight ago."

Kleiner continued. "We discovered that the boat contained an occupant. A man who may be able to shed some light onto the disappearance of our vessel, and its crew. Follow me, if you please."

After dropping off their weapons and equipment and changing out of their cold-weather gear, Barney and Gordon followed Dr Kleiner back to his office. Inside, slouched on a faded blue sofa, was a man dressed in orange work overalls, wreathed in a cloud of cigarette smoke. As the door opened, he hastily ground out his light and stood up.

"Barney. Doctor. Pleased to meet you. My name's Odell."

Dawn came early over the Arctic icefields. D-9 awoke to a shaft of pale blue light lancing in through a frost covered porthole. It fell on the still form of Alyx Vance, lying on her side, still deep in sleep. For a time he sat and watched her. He was fascinated, entranced. He had never been so close to a real human to notice their full features, the subtleties in their skin, the way their bodies moved when they breathed. Most intriguing of all was the way a faint smile played at the corners of her mouth, an expression D-9 had not seen on a human before. So fragile, yet still they survived.

He felt confused, and needed to return to familiar territory. D-9 rose slowly, and approached his captive. With quick hands, he rooted through her pockets, retrieving two magazines, a knife taped to her ankle and another blade in her boot. He pocketed these, along with her machine pistol. Making sure to lock the door behind him, the Elite left for several minutes, returning with a packet of cable ties. Most of the plastic ties had degraded, but some were still usable. As much as he wished to show he was not a threat to his captive, she would still have to be restrained for both of their safety.

Dr Kleiner placed a small tape recorder on the coffee table, and turned back to Odell. "Right now. Let's start from the beginning Mr Odell. You left from Kraken Base a fortnight ago, is that right?

"That's right. Onboard the _Aurora_."

"And how many were with you?

"Let's see...there were ten of us, I think. Me, Chan, Phillips...Davids...those guys and that one girl from City 9...Rachael...and Dr Mossman. Would've liked to have had the Vorts with us, but they don't like the cold so much."

"Where were you headed?"

"We were heading for the last known coordinates of the _Borealis_, at -"

Dr Kleiner raised a hand. "Don't – we can't afford to disclose those kinds of secrets."

"...sure. Anyway, it still took us about a week to find it, despite all of Dr Mossman's careful calculations."

"In what state was the wreck when you found it?"

"Well, it was in an advanced state of disrepair...it was resting with its stern up out of the water, on quite an angle...the cold had helped to preserve of the Aperture Science guys, poor bastards...they had all been piled up in some of the storerooms."

Gordon shot Dr Kleiner a confused glance. "Odell, did you say that the ship's stern was sticking out of the water when you found it?"

"Sure. The whole thing was pretty firmly wedged in place, if you ask me. Though how it ended up on top of the berg is another question...what? What's with the funny looks?"

Gordon picked up a photo of the ship that had been lying on the table. It had been sent back just this morning by one of the scouts. Odell glared at it, his brow wrinkling in confusion. "No way...that sunofabitch can't have moved that far. I was just there – "

"When we went out there, the ship was completely out of the water. Half covered by the berg. "

"Hmm."

Dr Kleiner leaned over, and switched off the tape recorder. "We'll finish this interview tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

Barney found Gordon in the mess hall that morning. He was seated at a bench with several stern looking rebels, all of them staring intently at Gordon while he gesticulated at a set of blueprints on the table.

"...okay, so assuming that we can get the submarine around to the shallow side of the berg, then we can climb the sides in a couple of minutes. Good. Yeah. Great."

Barney hooked his legs into the metal bench, sliding over next to his friend. "What's up Gordon? Planning something?"

He glanced down at the documents. They were cutaways, blueprints for the _Borealis_. Barney sighed.

"Gordon, we've already planned this out. We've got people watching the place, they haven't moved. Alyx hasn't moved. We'll go in when we're sure it's not some kind of trap."

"Barney, we already know it's a trap. They've taken Alyx. Last time, I had her back in about an hour, and she will be frightened now, panicked, that I haven't come to rescue her! She needs me, Barney!"

Barney raised his arms. "Okay, okay, Gordon. I know you like her and all, and yeah, she is important, but you've got to give her time. You wouldn't want to get your girlfriend killed just running in there guns blazing."

Gordon reddened. "She's not my girlfriend Barney, just...just a good friend."

Odell clapped Gordon on the back, grinning cheerfully through a haze of cigarette smoke. "That Alyx is a tough lady Gordon. Hell, I'd be surprised if she wasn't already on her way back here right now."

Blinking in the harsh white light, Alyx stumbled out onto the deck of the Borealis. Behind her, D-9 raised his pistol and aimed it squarely at the back of her head.

"_We will review your orders. Prisoners are to comply with all captor-set regulations and boundaries. Subject Vance is not to attempt escape or direct violence towards her captor for the remaining duration of her incarceration. Respond affirmative if orders are understood."_

Alyx stretched her neck painfully. It had been almost three days since she had been taken prisoner on the ship, and she had lost track of the number of times she had tried to escape. To his credit, he had not demonstrated any of the unfeeling brutality she had experienced with the Overwatch back at the City 17 Citadel. Instead, he took long walks around the ship, only manhandling her when he had to. There had been no torture, no interrogation, only long hours of silence in the infirmary, sleeping or fiddling with the locket around her neck. Sometimes, she was allowed to accompany him on his restless patrols, but that privilege had now been curtailed. Every time she was near a window or out on the deck, she would strain her ears for the drone of helicopter blades, or the sound of footsteps. Once, last morning, when she had been alone, she had spied a figure, dressed in a thick parka, perched high on a neighbouring berg, glued to a pair of binoculars. She had not been completely forgotten, then, although her heart had sank when she realised it was not Gordon.

That night, with the door locked securely behind him, D-9 started off on his nightly sojourn through the bowls of the ship. It was a curious sensation, to have no directives or guidelines. He had resorted to adopting an authoritative internal voice, and he ordered himself about.

He reviewed the map of the ship he had loaded into his helmet. He had explored the engine rooms, the crew quarters, the bridge and even scaled the radio mast to get a better view over the ice sheets. This only left the cargo bay.

The lights in the hold had long since lost power, so he activated his ocular lamp. In contrast with the wind pounded, noisy upper decks, the hold was eerily silent. And more private. He too had spied the Resistance watchers, and knew that it would only be a matter of time before they had to be removed, for his- and her- safety.

Ahead, his light fell upon a thick wall of debris and ice that had fallen across the corridor. Next to it lay a pile of abandoned Combine tools. Evidently, they had only managed to clear part of this blockage before they were forced to flee.

It did not take long for D-9 to gain entrance, using a small portable cutting laser. Soon, he had carved a man sized hole, revealing a large, dark room beyond.

He squeezed through, sliding across the ice until he felt himself emerge. Standing up, he surveyed his new surroundings. The room was large, big enough to hold a dropship, and filled with numerous crates and storage items. The thing that struck him as most unusual, however, was the corpses.

There were at least a dozen desiccated cadavers, all dressed in faded Aperture Science garb, hanging by their ankles from the roof of the room. Most were missing limbs. Some of the packing crates had been opened and filled with snow, with yet more bodies visible inside.

D-9 stepped closer, his light falling on the nearest corpse. He was dressed differently from the rest, with a beanie, parka and backpack. Unlike the others, he looked dressed for the cold. His body was fresher and not missing any limbs. He was also, D-9 noted with quiet alarm, a member of the Resistance, and could not have been here for more than a week.


	8. Chapter 8

"...well, Odell now for the important part. Your...escape...from the Borealis. What made you run?"

Odell took a long draw on a fresh cigarette. "Well, we had already been on the Borealis for some time, almost a week, and we had been fiddling around with some of the packing crates, you know, opening them up, just doing a quick check of the whole ship. Then, we managed to clear through some more ice and get down into some of the closed off storage areas."

"By this time, some of the guys had said they were...uneasy. It was the bodies, really. All stacked up like that, and inside locked rooms, too. Anyway, we were nervous as to what else we might find. We had planned to cut through to the final stores when...Davids went. He'd taken one of the artefacts with him...said his was checking something out. We had a look for him, but he never showed up. Like the ice had swallowed him up, Rachael said."

The Elite unholstered his pistol, and advanced with slow, deliberate movements. Beyond the corpses, a tall, rusted iron door stood ajar. D-9 drew back his boot, and delivered it a swift kick that shattered a porthole set into its middle. Pistol raised, ocular lamp brightened so as to blind any enemy, D-9 burst in -

"Then the others went, the three who went to look for Davids. They must have seen something, however, because we heard them screaming and yelling for a good few minutes. Again, no traces. By now, the rest of us were freaking out. Not Mossman, though. She knew that Chan could fly our chopper, so she sent him and Rachael down to the _Aurora _to send out a distress call. We knew that would probably bring the Combine down on us, but we didn't care then. Shit scared, we were."

"Where were you when this was happening?" Kleiner interjected.

"I was on the bridge with Mossman. We both saw the chopper try and land on the ship – stupid really, we knew the berg was unstable."

"Unstable?"

"A big hunk of ice broke off. Must have been the rotor wash. Came crashing straight down through the chopper, and carried on through until it landed in the _Aurora._ She didn't break, though; the weight just pushed her down until she... slipped away." Odell shuddered.

"Then what?"

"Well, after all of that, there was only me, Phillips and Dr Mossman. Phillips grabbed the doctor and pulled her out of the bridge, towards one of the rooms we used for sleeping. I went to follow them, but the door got blown shut behind them, and I heard this horrible grating sound...and I just panicked. I kicked the other door down and ran for the ship's rail. The whole thing was on a nice incline, so when I tripped up on a cable and went over the edge, the berg acted like a kind of slide, and in just a few seconds I'd slid about a hundred feet down the side of the berg, and into the water. Fortunately, I was close to where the _Aurora _had gone down, so before I got too cold I found a lifeboat and hauled ass out of there."

Kleiner leaned back, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "Did you turn back at any point?"

"There was a moment, about an hour later, when I heard a kind of...roaring noise. Lots of cracking too. The Borealis was obscured by another berg, but for just a moment the whole icefield was lit up by a brilliant green and blue light. I rowed around to get a better look, but it was too dark to see back that far."

– and discovered it was empty. This small room was, he noticed, a goods lift. He consulted the schematics. This lift shaft led from the store rooms, up through all the floors to the top loading bay and down to the bilge pumps a floor below. Judging by the absence of snow and ice on the floor, someone-or something- had been standing here recently. The roof inspection hatch was ajar, and D-9 looked up. The gloomy shaft rose away above him, but D-9 could see that the maintenance ladder was both free of ice and rust, but also bent and distorted, as if something heavy had climbed it.

It was then that he heard Alyx scream.


	9. Chapter 9

Taking the stairs two at a time, D-9 charged back up to the infirmary. The screaming had stopped, but in its place was a loud hammering sound. Pistol held high, the Elite dived into the corridor.

The door to the infirmary was closed, as he had left it. However, it had been stove in by several terrific, sledgehammer-like blows that had buckled the thick steel. The creature that had applied those blows turned towards him.

It stood over seven feet tall, broad and knotted with muscles. A pair of clawed, birdlike legs with reversed knees and three toed feet held the creature up. It's back, shoulders and head were encased in glittering blue-black armour. Under its helmet, three tiny red eyes squinted at the intruder. The mouth was a pair of tooth covered flaps that opened sideways, and these folded apart as the creature roared in challenge. The third arm in the centre of its chest betrayed its lineage – this was a creature from the Borderworld.

D-9 quickly overcame his initial shock, and emptied a full magazine from his pistol into the creature's midriff. Instead of backing down, however, it lowered its armoured head and charged forward on its arms and legs, like a giant reptilian gorilla. D-9 rolled clear, and scrambled to his feet. His pistol was empty, and he stumbled backwards down the stairs, dodging a clawed hand. The creature snarled, and pounded down after him.

D-9 sprinted back down into the hold. His internal taxonomy database trilled, registering a match. _Xenotherium Myrmex, _a species of extinct Xen artificial life form, bred for combat. The accompanying photograph confirmed the description, though what this creature was doing in the Arctic...

The ice barrier loomed ahead of him. He considered diving through the hole and into the store room, but then he would be trapped, on the creature's home ground. D-9 set his ocular lens to maximum brightness, and cast about for a weapon.

Ice and debris flew aside as the creature came pounding down the corridor towards him. It squinted in the powerful light from the ocular lens, momentarily stunned, and D-9 made a sudden lunge, wielding a small blowtorch. The flames created nightmarish shadows on the walls of the storage room as the two soldiers, engineered for combat, fought for their lives.

Having lost the element of surprise, D-9 focused the flame on the exposed areas of flesh visible between the creature's gleaming plate armour. The Xenian squealed, but its bone-breaking grip did not relax, and it emitted a grating snarl of triumph as D-9 heard something snap.

From behind the creature came a loud hissing sound. The alien gave a great screech, dropping D-9 and clawing frantically at its back. There were several sickening popping and cracking sounds, and the alien began to thrash furiously, a faint light visible in the centre of its chest. Suddenly, a long, white hot bar of near-molten iron burst from its stomach, eliciting one last howl from the monster. It slumped forward, the air now filled with the smell of burnt flesh.

D-9 looked up. Standing before him, the remnants of a thermic lance still burning in her hands, was Alyx, having run the alien through with the powerful cutting tool. She took a step towards him, and in the flickering light, her face was a mask of furious shadows. The Elite was weaponless, and he could only watch, helpless, as Anticitizen Two extended her arm towards him, something long and black clutched in her fist.


	10. Chapter 10

Alyx opened her hand, and let the black cable ties fall to the ground. Her hands were free. For some time, the human stood, staring down at the Elite, the scene bathed in the red afterglow of the thermic lance.

D-9 attempted to stand, but was interrupted by a shooting pain in his left arm. His helmet informed him that the limb was broken. He slumped back against the wall with a muffled grunt of pain.

The Elite looked up towards his captive, and saw that she was holding out her hand to him, her face one of apprehension and fear, familiar emotions, but also one that D-9 had never seen before. He looked at the outstretched hand in confusion, and then took a tentative grip on it. Alyx heaved him up, and tucked herself under his uninjured arm. Slowly, captive and captor began to inch their way back towards the infirmary.

Inside, D-9 seated himself on the bed. His head was clouded with pain, and his internal bladders of sedatives and stimulants had run dry. He looked at Alyx again, her face as she tended to his injuries, and in a sudden flash a word was associated with her emotion. _Pity. _A word he had never had a context for, a feeling he had never expressed, or seen expressed. But here was a human, feeling _pity_ for him.

Alyx sat at a corner desk, idly toying with the buttons on her parka. She was desperate to sleep, but her mind was still in turmoil about what had happened. The Elite had risked his life to save her from that...thing. She could have killed them both, alerted one of the rebels watching the ship, and have been back at base before sunrise, yet she felt she could not. To her, the roles of captive and captor had changed to that of...nurse and patient. The thought brought a weak smile to her face.

D-9 stirred, raised his head, reached behind his back, and produced Alyx's machine pistol. For an awful moment, the weapon was aimed straight at her face, with the red lens of the Elite visible through the sights.

D-9's helmet automatically registered Alyx's face, painting it with a swirling crosshair on his heads-up display. It would be so easy, thought the part of him that was not completely empty of Stim, to terminate the Anticitizen.

A quick flick of the wrist reversed the weapon, and he leaned out and passed it over, almost throwing it, as if it had burned his thickly gloved hands. Alyx instinctively worked the action, surprised to see that the soldier had not removed the magazine.

"...thanks."


	11. Chapter 11

The prey had wounded it. Luckily, the weapon had missed most of the vital organs, which were situated in its cranium. He had been distracted by the white-suited puppet of the Oppressors, but attracted from his hiding place by a familiar smell. Yes, the smell of the Free Man had been on his prey, a sort of shared life-force that it could detect. It smelt other things on her, too. Vortigaunt treachery had aided her in the past. Slowly, painfully, it dragged itself to its feet. The Highest must take them, its mission must be completed. They would have their revenge upon Him and his kin.

"_This is Snowy Owl. Update on the Borealis situation. During the night there was something going on below decks. I heard banging, and at one point I thought I saw fire."_

Gordon, Barney, Dr Kleiner and Dr Magnusson were gathered in the communications centre, listening to the latest reports from the team of scouts that were monitoring the stricken icebreaker.

"_Sorry to tell you this, Command, but before everything kicked off down there we were pretty sure we could hear a...woman. Screaming. Nothing but silence from the ship since about midnight, and there have been no new developments today. We'll keep you posted, Snowy Owl out."_

A deathly hush fell across the room. Those assembled glanced at Gordon, fearing another outburst. Over the last few days, Gordon had grown depressed, frightened for Alyx and angry at his own impotence.

When he spoke, his voice was a sharp whisper. "No more waiting. We will go now."


	12. Chapter 12

Slowly, the submarine slipped back beneath the grey waters of the Arctic. Having collected Alyx, D-9 and the Resistance observation team, the vessel was now heading back to Kraken Base.

From his position atop an iceberg several kilometres from the _Borealis_, a Combine Sniper watched the rippling water at the base of the iceberg. Satisfied that the Resistance had left, the soldier keyed his radio.

"_City 13, this is Observance Team 3."_

"_Go ahead, Team 3."_

The soldier brought up an image window on his helmet computer, cycling around until he found a picture of the foredeck of the _Borealis. _Rapid blinking with his left eye applied colour filters and zoomed the image in on a white-suited figure on the deck, surrounded by Resistance members.

"_Requesting City 13 Personnel Database search."_

"_Granted. Unit A-45 cleared to access records."_

"_Search...Unit D-9, Elite designation."_

There was a burst of static on the line as the Personnel Computer cycled through the Combine archives.

"_Match found. Unit D-9 deserviced, cause of death unknown."_

The soldier's brows furrowed under his Overwatch helmet. An error?

"_Unit A-45 reports database error. Unit D-9 online, in Anticitizen captivity."_

Despite Gordon's protests, the medics had insisted that Alyx be placed in the submarine's infirmary for the duration of the journey, for treatment of her original wound, as well as hypothermia and burns to her hands. The supposedly rogue Combine had been shut away in the forward cargo compartment, under armed guard.

Gordon exhaled deeply, and continued his pacing of the submarine deck. He felt strange, almost naked without the familiar bulk of his Hazard Suit, and it was comforting to be behind at least some kind of metal skin. The thought brought a smirk to his face. The world beating, alien decimating Freeman needed a security blanket, albeit a steel one. Cute.

Something was still nagging him, though. That conversation with the crewman on the _Aurora. _The disappearances of the crew, the strange lights, the ship having supposedly shifted over a period of weeks. What was that all about, and why had they not seen anything like that while they were onboard?

The goal was in sight now. The Xen Grunt, blood still pouring from the wound in its chest, dragged itself through the silent corridors of the _Borealis. _Packing the hole with ice had done little to stop the bleeding, and death now looked inevitable. Yet this had not changed the parameters of the mission, only given them a new urgency. In his clawed fist was clutched a rectangular parcel, swathed in strips of clothing torn from past human meals. The Key must be fitted to the Lock, it had been told. The Key must be turned, like it was for the brown haired woman and her companions only those few weeks ago. Fit the Key. Complete the task.

The Grunt stumbled into the hold, fragments of shattered crystal crackling under its hooves. Slowly, it unwrapped the cloth from the package, revealing a long box constructed from porous stone. Inside, nestled in impact absorbing jelly, was another Xen crystal, one that still glowed with the purpl flames of the Borderworld. Absorbed by its beauty, the Grunt briefly forgot his pain, and with a mighty effort slotted the crystal into the drive receptacle. Then, satisfied that the crystal was safe, the Grunt leaned back against the receptacle, emitted one last, rattling breath, then expired.

The Key had been fitted to the Lock. Now it had to be turned.


End file.
